What Isabella Desires (12 page)

“Would you care to visit the seaside?”

She blinked, but didn’t miss a step in the dance. “The seaside?”

“Yes.”

“What part of the seaside?”

“Anywhere that does not include your neighbors.”

Really, he was being rather stupid about this whole thing. Why was he continuing with this game? For as much as he suddenly couldn’t contain his desire for her, and as much as she was baiting him, this was a game. A dangerous game when it involved him. Better to let her play it with someone else.

Her legs wrapped around someone else, her head thrown back on someone else’s pillow.

His hand tightened fractionally around her waist and he pulled her close again.

No, this would be best for both of them. She would have her adventure. He would get her out of his system.

Their friendship would probably be ruined.

But it would save her from mourning him later.

“Marcus?”

He smiled. A fake smile, but the dance ended and he managed to conceal it as they walked off the floor.

“What were you talking to Blakely about?” he asked, trying to change the direction of his thoughts.

“I helped him choose the peacock brooch for Lady Margaret this afternoon. I had heard their betrothal was on shaky ground. Not that anyone has come right out and said so. I do hope things work out for them.”

He stopped. “You saw Blakely this afternoon?”

“I was out browsing. I always shop on Wednesdays, you know that.”

“Do you always stop to talk to Blakely?” he asked sardonically.

She raised a brow. “No. ’Tis the first I’ve seen him. He was most pleasant, though. I don’t know why my seeing him has you in a twist.”

“Blakely is not pleasant. He cares only about himself.”

“He seems most infatuated with Lady Margaret.”

“Seems. Believe me, Blakely cares not a whit for her.”

“That is horrible of you to say.”

“It’s the truth.”

“What about his brother? It was obvious Blakely cared for him.”

Marcus paused. “He cared more about his brother after his death than he did before.”

“How do you know?”

“I watch people.”

“And people watch you.” She pointed to Charles Ellerby and Ainsworth, who as soon as he met their eyes, averted them. They were talking in hushed tones. “What have you done this time?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“I see. I have no idea what you do in the House sometimes—with your club and secret talks—but I know how you treat people. And sometimes it is very poorly.”

He stepped close to her and lowered his voice. “After that dance, it sounds like I have been treating you poorly, Bella. I think I need to make it up to you.”

Her breath hitched and he smiled. He backed away slowly, still conscious of where they were.

“Lord Roth, Lady Willoughby, pleasure to see you both.”

Marcus wondered if he shouldn’t just take Isabella’s arm and steer her to the other side of the room, but before he had the opportunity, she was already looking over his shoulder.

“Lord Ainsworth, Mr. Ellerby. Are you enjoying the party?”

“Quite a crush,” Charles Ellerby said. “I’ve heard that you’ve been enjoying many parties this week. My brother Fenton was telling us how fetching you looked at the Grenstridge affair.”

Fenton Ellerby moved up a notch on Marcus’s list of people to destroy. It wasn’t a particularly hard move. He already disliked the man. Charles Ellerby earned himself a respectable first showing on the list. Traits ran in families—he knew that better than most.

Isabella’s lips tightened but she gamely held her ground. “That was very kind of your brother, Mr. Ellerby. Remind me to thank him, Lord Roth.” She cast a glance in his direction. “Mr. Ellerby, your brother wasn’t looking especially himself at the last party. I’m afraid he looked rather ill. But that he overcame that illness to admire my form is an honor.”

Point to Isabella. And he was pleased to note no affectionate attachment to Fenton Ellerby in her voice.

“The Grenstridge affair was a little out of your norm, wasn’t it?”

Charles really was too new at this. He didn’t have the polish or the tact for a truly threatening attack.

Isabella raised both brows. “Out of my norm? I am on a social committee with Lady Grenstridge and involved in many children’s groups with Ladies Giles, Norman, Filstitch, and Mrs. Creel, all of whom were in attendance. We held a serious discussion of prison conditions for children. Are you interested in our work? A contribution perhaps?”

Charles reeled back. Ainsworth huffed, “My wife is on that committee, Ellerby.”

And checkmate. Not even support from his partner in this crime.

“I—I’ll think about it. Pardon me, I see Wellington, and we have matters to discuss.”

Wellington held some of the same views as Charles Ellerby, ones that differed from Marcus’s, but if there was one thing Wellington despised, it was a toady.

Ainsworth looked sour and disappeared behind him.

Isabella watched after them. “Well, that was an interesting exchange.”

But Marcus saw the unease in her face. The way her teeth were catching her bottom lip.

“Why are you doing this?”

She met his eyes. “Doing what?”

“Attending risqué routs. Risking the reputation you’ve taken such pains to build.”

She shrugged, but the gesture was stilted and she glanced down. “Everyone needs a change.”

He wanted to take her chin in his hand, raise her warm blue eyes to his and discover the real answer, but he settled for a flippant response in the middle of the swelling crowd. “Adventure?”

“Yes.” Her relief was palpable, and it produced a sliver of unease in him. Could she want more than a quick affair? Everything about her said yes, even as her words said no.

Isabella wasn’t the torrid affair type.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Her eyes met his again and hardened. It wasn’t a look he was accustomed to seeing on her face. “Would you rather I go to Fenton Ellerby and see what adventures lie there? Marcus, if you don’t want to do this, just…just tell me. I was serious on the dance floor. No more of this to and fro.”

“I want to.” His mouth responded without his permission.

Her eyes settled into their more usual expression of friendliness with a hint of underlying insecurity.

He liked Isabella. More than any other woman of his acquaintance, past or present. Probably future too.

What the devil had he gotten himself into?

A few hours later, with Isabella on his arm, he followed the stream of people leaving the house. The Donningtons lived just outside of London proper and had a drive where the carriages couldn’t be brought forth to the front. Guests made a promenade down the drive instead. More than one couple used the walk as an excuse to hang onto the arm of their chosen escort or to clutch their lady closer.

Marcus was trying to figure out how to proceed. He felt like a boy just out of school. Worried about his lady and what he could do to mess it all up.

He hadn’t felt this way since before his father died. Being detached was so much easier.

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the carriage that he noticed multiple pairs of eyes staring at them. Not from the other patrons; no, from the men stationed between the carriages.

He let his eyes scan the other directions. Men were circling there as well. Not apparent to anyone but a close observer.

“Marcus, are you going on to the Plessandes’?”

He calculated five to six men.

“Perhaps.”

In and of itself a high number.

“Perhaps? Didn’t you respond?”

He wondered where they had found so many men willing to take down a peer.

“Yes.”

It was a crime punishable by death.

“Well, you should at least put in an appearance.”

The person who hired them must be more bold and desperate than he’d thought.

“You know how these things work.”

He had to get Isabella safely away from him before the men made their move.

“Yes, I do. And good manners dictate you should at least put in an appearance.”

They would wait for the crowd to thin, or simply follow him.

“Wouldn’t you rather we go somewhere else? I promised you those dances.”

He would get her to go back to her house…

She paused. “When you put it that way, I doubt the Plessandes would notice our absence.”

…while he led the beady-eyed men in footmen’s garb away.

“Oh, they’ll notice. Everyone will notice.”

She would be safe at home while he was leading everyone else astray.

She sighed. “You are about to put forth some shockingly appalling plan where you show up at the Plessandes’ and then disappear, only to reappear at my window.”

He stopped surveying the scene for a moment and looked at her in consternation. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s what you do. Don’t tell me that you think I haven’t noticed the number of times you’ve come to a rout only to disappear. James and Stephen always say something to the others about you being in the card room, or out getting some air, but you never are where they say until later in the evening when you suddenly reappear—cravat somewhat more starchly tied than before, tugging at your cuffs to arrange them in place.”

He noticed one of the men moving forward, and he increased their pace to catch up with the foursome of guests ahead.

“I beg your pardon, I don’t tug on my cuffs.”

However, he was shocked that she had been so observant.

“You don’t usually. Generally you are unnaturally still. But when you reenter a room, occasionally you make last minute adjustments. What I’ve just never reasoned out is whether you are meeting women or men.”

He stopped dead, forward motion forgotten. “Pardon me?”

She waved and tugged him back into motion. “Not like that. Meeting men about secret diplomatic affairs. Which emperor takes after Caligula—likes horses—that type of thing.”

He raised a brow. “Caligula?”

One man signaled to another.

“I had a rather eccentric history master.”

Another man signaled. Something was going to happen soon.

“Mmmm. Listen, Bella, I just remembered something I forgot to share with Donnington. I’ll join you in an hour or so after putting in an appearance at the Plessandes’. I promise to leave their party and come to your window posthaste.”

Dusty rose grazed her cheeks. It was an excellent color on her. One he hoped to witness spread farther south.

She stopped and tapped him in the chest. “You’d better. I’ll be quite sore with you if you leave me again, Roth.”

He smiled at her. “Duly noted. Be careful in the crowd.”

She gave him an exasperated look and headed off toward the carriage.

Satisfied that Isabella would be safe, Marcus turned to draw the men back toward the Donningtons.

Something in the air changed. An excitement laced it that had been absent previously. The men surrounded him on either side, just as he wanted them to. He walked upstream of the guests, exchanging an occasional pleasantry or barb.

The men continued to follow, but something caused him to stop, the guests fanning out around him and continuing downstream.

A tingle of alarm made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

While he still had the attention of three of the men in his sights, the eyes of one of the men were not focused on him at all, but on something behind him.

Marcus abruptly turned, pushing through the couples he had just passed, causing a few squabbles in his wake.

His eyes swept the line of carriages, trying to locate a pile of dark hair.

There. He could see Isabella.

Two men circled her, one catching her attention and opening the door of a carriage.

A carriage that belonged to neither Isabella nor Marcus.

What a fool he had been not to have anticipated this move. He would never make it in time to keep her from getting in, but the crush of carriages would slow them down. It always took a long time to depart. He just hoped they didn’t have anything planned for the time it did take.

Like leaving her dead body to be found.

He was now running, dodging and pushing people out of the way.

Her hands were on her hips and she was arguing as one man motioned her inside. He finally gave up and grabbed her arm.

The man’s eyes met Marcus’s as he bore down upon them.

A screeching whistle sounded, and, as at a signal, the man melted behind the lines of carriages. At the moment, Marcus didn’t care if they all went home for an ale and hot bowl of stew.

“Isabella.”

His call caught her attention, and the attention of those around him. Well, the gossips would be talking about them now anyway.